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Chapter 1
Olivia
“I need you to tell me who these panties belong to.”
I turn at the sound of the masculine voice. It’s not that it’s a rarity here. It’s a lingerie boutique, so we have our share of male clientele, but this voice is different.
It’s edged with a roughness that speaks of confidence and control.
“You want me to what?” Liza, the newly hired sales associate, asks.
“You heard me.” The man barks back, an added note of irritation in his tone. “I need to know who bought this pair of panties because she’s a goddamn thief.”
I move across the boutique, my nude heels clicking a quick beat on the hardwood floors.
I stop when I catch sight of the back of the man attached to the voice.
He’s tall. I’d guess around six-foot-two. His shoulders are broad, his brown hair long enough to skim the collar of the white dress shirt he’s wearing. The sleeves are rolled up to reveal muscular forearms that pop in and out of view when he moves his arms.
I should visit this store more often. Working from the corporate offices of Liore Lingerie isn’t nearly as exciting as this.
“Can I help you, sir?” I call out from behind him, running a hand over my long dark hair. “I’m Olivia Hull. I’m the District Operations Manager of Liore Lingerie.”
He turns.
Holy hell.
It’s as if a sculptor created the perfect man and dropped him in front of me.
Impeccable bone structure, a strong jaw, a sharp nose and the pièce de résistance; two of the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
“Are you in charge?” He looks me over.
I do the same to him, stopping to linger at the barest hint of smooth skin beneath the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. “If there’s a problem, I can help.”
A ball of black lace falls from his hand onto the checkout counter. “Give me the name of the woman who bought these.”
I move around the counter until I’m facing him directly. I glance down at the lace. “We sell hundreds of pairs of panties every day, sir.”
He shoves the lace closer to me. “I don’t care how many you sell. I only care about who you sold this pair to.”
I grab a silver pen from the top of the counter and tug on the edge of the lace. “This is one of our most popular styles of panties. We have several stores here in Manhattan. It’s impossible to pinpoint who these belong to.”
“You must have records.” He points at the computer sitting atop the counter. “She told me they were brand new. Key in the code or whatever it is you do when you sell a pair and print me out the names of the women who have bought them in the last few days. She’s about your height, blonde, with brown eyes.”
Liza moves toward the computer, but I stop her with a hand on her wrist. “We value the privacy of each of our customers. We would never compromise that for any reason, sir.”
“Your customer,” he drags the last word across his tongue with disdain. “Your customer took a very valuable item from my apartment last night after I fell asleep. She was in such a rush to steal my property that she forgot those in my bed.”
“Why don’t you just ask her to give it back?” Liza laughs. “Call her up and tell her that you’ll exchange the panties for whatever it is she took.”
Oh, poor naïve Liza.
“I take it that you don’t know her name?” I cross my arms over my chest. The motion stretches the fabric of my black sheath dress taut across my breasts.
His eyes drop to my arms. “That’s correct.”
“I’m afraid we can’t help you.” I slide the panties back across the counter with a push of the pen. “I’d suggest that you return to wherever it was that you met her. With any luck, you’ll cross paths with her again.”
